


Yer A Wizard 'Arry

by orphan_account



Series: What We Do In The Semidarkness [7]
Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Familiar Mallory, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Mother-Son Relationship, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Unintended Drug Use, Vampire Michael, What We Do In The Shadows AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 19:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20917715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The nest attend a party and things get out of hand.





	Yer A Wizard 'Arry

**Author's Note:**

> The plot and characters of American Horror Story: Apocalypse belong to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk. Blah, Blah of What We Do In The Shadows belongs to Jemaine Clement and Taika Waititi.
> 
> All mistakes are my own.
> 
> For the anon who requested Michael on drugs<3

The Unholy Masquerade is Michael’s favourite night of the year.

Everything’s going great, he’s too busy insulting the witches in attendance and chatting with his zombie friends—yes friends. Zombies eat brains, Michael doesn’t have any—to do much more than brush the occasional kiss across the top of her head.

Mallory’s enjoying the freedom of being farther than three inches from his side. Michael’s hardly left her alone since she fell apart under his tongue in the library. It’s been a wild few weeks. Their physical relationship is progressing like a game of Clue that Michael’s determined to win; skinned by a tongue in the library, electrified by clever fingers in the pantry, and nailed to a wall in the basement. 

The incident with the strap-on (fuck you very much, Madison) will live in infamy with The Leather Pants Situation.It took fifteen minutes and a diagram for Mallory to explain to Michael that the sex toy was meant for her to wear, not him. 

A hush falling over the ballroom pulls Mallory's attention away from her conversation with Gallant. She rocks up on her toes to see through the crowd and catches a flash of orange.

_Oh fuck._

Michael’s maker is here.

If there's anyone who's responsible for his crazy, it's this woman. Mallory knows this because Michael gets surprisingly weepy and loose-lipped after an orgasm.

The Baroness, one Myrtle Snow, hasn’t accepted an invitation to The Unholy Masquerade in three centuries. Mallory’s only seen her in the creepy looking portrait that Michael keeps in his suite of rooms, but she’d recognize that ‘I smell dog shit’ look anywhere.

Myrtle doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Michael is that you I see loitering by the punch bowl?” she shouts across the room.

The way that Michael flinches has Mallory making her way over to him. Slowly, of course, she knows a viper when she sees one and she’s not suicidal.

“My dear boy,” Myrtle drawls, coming to a stop in front of her offspring. “Your posture is almost as bad as your dinner jacket. Your fashion faux pas continue to give me nightmares.”

Michael smooths a hand down his velvet blazer and clenches his jaw. “Mother,” he grates, “how lovely of you to crawl out of your hole in the ground. Who dug you up this time?”

“Your brother Lestat was most helpful. And he informed me that you’ve taken a lowly human as your lover.” The ginger shrew pins Mallory with her stare.

Feeling _thoroughly_ judged, Mallory finishes inching up to Michael and tucks her hand in the crook of his elbow. Michael, the cowardly bastard, angles himself behind her. 

“Baroness,” Mallory greets Myrtle, “it’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

She might as well be invisible.

Red painted lips curl with disdain. “Michael it’s speaking to me. Have you not trained it to be properly fearful?”

Michael’s body vibrates with a low growl. “Her name is Mallory, Mother. Must you be an insufferable cunt?”

Myrtle reaches a gloved hand out to cup his cheek and tsk-tsks, “my sensitive child. I see you haven’t matured with age.” Michael’s brows furrow as she leans in close and presses bises to either side of his face. “Oh, well. You can't win them all. It’s a great comfort to me that my other children turned out so well. If you’ll excuse me, there are some fascinating individuals here that I simply must meet.”

Devastation wrought, she pivots on a heel and engages a befuddled waiter in a lively debate about the state of the world economy. Michael looks like she’s staked him.

The crying in response to any sort of affection makes so much sense now. Trying to lift the mood, Mallory tilts her head and whispers, “wow. Let’s not hurry to do that again.” 

Her lover can’t even rally a smile. Michael’s face spasms in a rictus of utter contempt as he watches Myrtle gush over a group of adolescent witches. Leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth absentmindedly, he mutters, “apologies, Mouse, but I think I need to take in the night air.” He’s gone then, moving through the room with preternatural speed.

Mallory’s not left on her own for long. She feels the hair on the back of her neck raise and realizes that she's being stalked. Madison appears at her shoulder as she takes a steadying breath and hands her a glass of champagne.

“Well, well, well,” the vampire purrs. “If it isn’t my favourite little house maid. Now that the blond idiot is gone, why don’t you stick close to me.” Madison leans in close and scratches a fingernail along her collarbone. Christ.

Ass clenching in terror, Mallory tries not to show any emotion. 

_Don’t engage. Don’t engage_, she thinks. 

She’s seen Trevor’s waddle of shame down the hallway after a night with his Mistress. And Madame Montgomery is looking _hungry_ tonight. 

\--

One hour later, Mallory’s starting to get really concerned. Myrtle's left for another party but Michael still hasn’t appeared. Equally worrying is the fact that Madison has progressed to trying to feed her grapes out of her hand. Gallant, the fucking jerk, is too busy chatting up a tall drink of warlock to come and save her.

She’s getting ready to pull the fire alarm and slip out the back when her Master makes his triumphant return.

And what an entrance Michael makes. He dives onto the dance floor and throws himself on his knees in front of a Coven elder. He’s wearing an orange pylon on his head. 

“Will you be my new mother?” he asks the old witch, who backs up against a table in fright. “Look! I’ve got the hat. I’ll be the best son ever!” he wails, kissing her orthopaedic loafers.

Mallory slips away from Madison and moves closer to Michael, hoping to distract him before the security people arrive. “Michael,” she hisses, “what the fuck are you doing?!”

“Mouse, my love! I drank the blood of some people in the alley, but they were on drugs! Now I’m a wizard!” He’s completely drugged out, pupils eating up his blue eyes. The rings on his fingers glint spectacularly as he does some very aggressive jazz hands.

“Oh, my God,” Mallory breathes, disbelieving, and then louder, “that’s…so great! Maybe we should go home so you can show me your spells.” Resistance is futile she's learned. If you see the car crash coming, just go limp and roll with the impact. 

Michael’s eyelids droop into something that’s probably supposed to look sultry as he wags a disapproving finger at her. “Naughty minx, you just want to see my wand. None of that in front of Mother.”

She wishes he showed up on camera.

At that moment, the security detail sweeps in and forms a semi-circle around Michael. “Don’t touch me you oafs!” he screams, flashing his fangs. “I’m a fucking wizard. Lay a finger on me and I’ll order my owl to shit on you!”

They put their arms out to pull him upwards, but at the same instant Michael falls forward, flat onto his face. The pylon makes a hollow sound as it bounces off of the concrete.

Mallory winces in sympathy. That had to hurt. 

Michael lets out a groan of pain and looks up from under his 'hat.' His nose is bleeding, and he has one eye open. The eye in question is surprisingly focused as it scans the shocked faces of the other guests.

He doesn't fight as his captors zip-tie his wrists together and haul him to his feet. Instead, Michael hangs like a limp noodle between them, the tips of his shoes dragging on the floor. “Fly you fools,” he whispers as he's lugged away from the party and toward the doors. 

Whelp. There goes Mallory's evening. She hopes she doesn't have to fill out any paperwork to collect him this time. The dog pound's nine page application was a little much.

Somebody sniffles loudly and Mallory darts a look over her shoulder. She spies Gallant wiping his eyes with a hanky and raises a wry brow. “What?” the dandy asks when he notices her attention. “He’s fallen into shadow.”

She blinks.

“Shut up, Mallory. Even Aragorn cried, okay?”

Dude really needs to stop picking virgins up in LOTR chat rooms. 


End file.
